


Dust to Dust

by niveumnocte



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, M/M, alcohol mention in the 2nd chapter, humor (maybe), kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1748036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niveumnocte/pseuds/niveumnocte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sinbad doesn't exactly enjoy hanging around his apartment, so he spends his hours at a local coffee shop. Everything's fine, normal as ever... That is, until a new barista shows up.</p><p>(Basically a coffee shop/college AU that takes a weird turn. Like, a few times. I wrote most of this more than a year ago. I'm not sure why I'm posting it now, but hey.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They met on a Wednesday.

He walked into the usual coffee shop, went to the usual counter to order his usual double-shot mocha coffee with whipped cream and caramel drizzle, sat at his usual spot, and (as usual,) opened his laptop and waited for his drink to come to him.

College. His family’s lifelong dream was to attend one, any one. And, really, they were proud if he even graduated high school. His father and his mother were homeless before they immigrated to the US. School was available albeit not perfect where they were from, but they simply couldn't go without a home.

Could anybody, anywhere, really go without one? He thought this as he gazed into the window, golden eyes dazed by the constant bustle of the outside world. He smirked as he continued to reflect.

He was in a good school, taking the courses of his very dreams and making his parents proud... But he really shouldn't be buying expensive coffee when there’s tuition to pay for. And clothes. And food. And all of these other supposed “necessities” for life (did he have to rent an apartment with his friends? Did he?)

With a groan, he proceeded to open whatever document he was working on for whatever the essay was and--

“Excuse me, are you Sinbad?”

... That wasn’t the usual voice. The usual voice would have known his appearance, and would have said “Hey Sin!” instead of a polite, soft question. That guy wasn’t exactly the epitome of quietness.

He looked up at the unknown voice with a smile.

“Yep,” he nodded, “That’s me.”

“Alright, enjoy,” the voice replied, placing the beverage on the table.

As this unknown boy pivoted, Sinbad stopped him with an exclamation, “Ah, wait a second!”

And so, he turned.

“Is something the matter, sir?” the boy asked.

“Oh, uh, no,” he continued to say with a smile, “I was just wondering if you’re a new employee.”

“Yes,” he replied, “Why?”

“I was just wondering. I come here a lot, and I didn’t recognize you...” he trailed off for a second, “So, what’s your name?”

The pale boy pointed to his name badge, “It’s pronounced ‘Jah-fahr.’”

“Oh! That’s an Arabic name, no?”

Ja’far shifted, backing up slightly, “I wouldn’t know, but it probably is.”

Sinbad noticed this and nodded, “It’s a nice name. It’s normally put on wise people.”

“I wouldn't consider myself that, but thanks,” he turned again, “I’m sorry, sir, but I have to go back to work.”

“Yeah, no problem!” he chuckled, “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Uh,” Ja’far stuttered in reply, “Sure.”

And he was off.

Sinbad didn’t know what it was, but something seemed endearing about those big, dark eyes that complimented his pale skin, and the way he spoke, and...

He normally didn’t notice these things unless they were on girls. Huh.

... Why were these boy’s features so nice to him?

Realizing the time, Sinbad cursed at himself, took a swig of the mocha and now-melted whipped cream, and began to type. As furiously as possible, because it made him feel like he was accomplishing something.

As usual.

 

* * *

 

Within a few weeks, and a few more coffee breaks, the once unfamiliar boy became Sinbad’s usual. Their eyes would meet, and they would talk. Ja’far no longer had that stiff, serious voice when spoke, and sometimes, he even smiled. It was no longer “Sir,” but it wasn’t “Sin” either. Now it was just “hey.” They could chit chat for hours, but most of the time, Ja'far got worried and went straight back to the counter.

Somehow, that was very endearing to Sinbad.

It was ironic. Sinbad didn’t have any assignment that Friday, nor any projects, just a bit of work that wouldn’t take that long.

It was Friday. A workless, relaxing, free Friday. So, why was he here? Was it out of instinct? Maybe he was just used to strolling in here before he walked home. But, even so, that would be odd of Sin. He wasn’t that clumsy, and he normally knew his priorities.

What was the force that drove him here?

While in his thoughts, the usual drink came with the now usual face.

“Hey, Ja’far!”

“Hello, Sinbad.”

The usual greeting.

“How’re you today?”

“I’ve been better. You?”

A usual response.

“Great! I’ve been planning on going out with my friends later. I have no idea where, though.”

“Is that so,” Ja’far gave a slight smile (if it could be called that),“I hope you have fun.”

Sin didn’t know how to feel about that smile. He was being polite, of course, but... Did he make him upset? Oh, fuck no. Polite was one thing, but being polite and throwing away emotions for the sake of being so was just not going to happen. He was not having that. With that thought, he exclaimed, “Ja’far, you should come!”  
“.... What?” the boy replied, eyebrows raised, eyes slightly wide.

“Yeah, why not?”

“I’m sorry,” he rubbed at his temple wearily, “What?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“I don’t think so?”

Eesh. Even for Ja’far, that was a little too harsh for Sinbad.

“Welp, I declare us to be friends, and so we are,” he remarked, head arisen confidently, “That’s why you should come tonight.”

Ja'far bit his lip, “Yeah, um... I’d love to, I really would, but I have work.”

“Here? Jeez, are you a slave?”

“No, no, somewhere else.”

“Oh. Hm,” Sinbad shrugged, “Well, that’s fine! Maybe some other time.”

... Something was off.

Very off. Ja’far wasn’t wearing his typical green polo shirt, accompanied by his name-tag and your average blue jeans. Nor did he seem to be needing to be back to his station anytime soon.

“... Shouldn’t you be rushing back by now?”

“What?” Ja'far asked, in more of a grumble than a question, “Oh, I just got out of work.”

“Really?” he glanced at his phone, “What time is it?”

Ja’far smiled in a sleepy, gentle way, “It’s the same time you always come here. About four thirty.”

“You noticed?” he questioned, shocked at his statement.

“You’re the only person who sits at that very seat. It’s natural that I would notice,” he chuckled, “It’s almost like you own it.”

Something was just too endearing about that soft laugh, in that tired, soothing voice, on a face with tired, spacy, wandering eyes.

“In that case,” Sinbad stood up, pulled out a chair, and waved his hand to it, “Mind having a little chat?”

Ja’far’s smile grew, as if it was the only thing he wished for, “Sure, thanks.” He took his seat, folded his arms on the table, and rested his head on the makeshift pillow.

Sin took in his features. He noticed that those large, slate gray eyes had some green in those wide irises, and the bags under them didn’t seem to make them look any smaller. Upon further inspection, he saw that there were freckles dabbled upon his nose, and a little less of them spread about on his cheeks. He had white, crazy hair that wasn’t messy because it need to be brushed or washed, it was simply the way it was. It was obvious Ja’far liked to be clean; he smelled like feminine hair wash almost all the time  (which Sin couldn’t blame him for-- that shit smelled marvelous).

Recognizing the silence, Sin began to speak again, “You seem really exhausted. Like, you kind of look like a ghost. Are you okay?”

Ja'far replied bitterly, eyes narrowing, “That’s my skin tone.”

“No, no, I could tell,” he snickered, “School?”

Ja’far nodded, “School.”

“I know how you feel,” Sinbad sighed, “Where do you go? Anywhere around here?”

“Yes,” he gestured towards the right, “You know, Maybury? The one with the blue colors and, like, five buildings? It’s a few blocks down the street.”

“Oh!” Sinbad responded ecstatically, almost jumping out of his seat, “I go there, too!”

“Whoa, settle down,” Ja’far’s facial expression went from knit eyebrows, wide eyes, and a slightly open frown to the same blank face, but with his eyebrows still tense, “That’s so weird.”

“Isn’t it?” he stated, “But, I’ve never seen you around. Do you take night classes?”

Ja’far shook his head, “No, but... I might’ve seen you.”  
“Awh,” Sinbad whined slightly, “Why didn’t you say hi?”

“Well, I thought we weren’t that well-acquainted, so maybe it would’ve been rude,” he admitted, “Or stalker-like.”

He laughed at that answer, “Nah, I’d recognize you and not think of it to be creepy. The more you know.”

“The better.”

They chuckled in unison, albeit a few seconds. Maybe they had one thing in common. And that was crappy jokes from the internet.

Better than nothing.

“Oh, by the way,” Sinbad inquired, What courses do you take?”

“I take Calc III, advanced computer programming, and--”

Sinbad’s eyes widened, and he slouched down, “Hold up. Calculus III?”

“Yes. It’s hard to understand, but a lot easier to do than Calc II. Ugh, that was hell to pay...”

“What year are you in?”

“Oh, I’m a freshman.”

“Holy fuck, when did you learn Calculus II?!”

“Uh, over the summer.”

“Like, through extracurricular courses?”

“Online. I taught myself, took a test when I got here, and here I am.”

“... How do you even manage any of that?”

“I like math?”

“That’s not even math!” Sinbad exclaimed, hand on forehead, “That’s just like hell, but worse!”

Ja’far laughed, “I know, it’s not for everybody, and you seem like the type who hates it.”

Sinbad sighed, “I take English and History courses. Jesus, I haven’t done an algebra problem in years...”

“Oh?” Ja’far’s smile remained, “I like history, but I’d have to wait on history courses for now. I have to get all the important and difficult stuff out o--”

His words were interrupted by a very loud and sudden Lonely Island ringtone, which made his face fade from wonder to utter dissapointment.

Sin gave a nervous laugh, “Excuse me,” and picked up his phone.

Ja’far watched as his lips rambled on about paying rent, going out tonight, blah blah blah, nothing out of the ordinary, although a vulgar interjection was appointed to the caller at one point, but it seemed like something the golden-eyed man would say.

“Okay, good,” he groaned, “See you in a bit.”

“Your roommates?” Ja’far asked.

“Yep,” he chuckled nervously again, “They’re kind of huge assholes.”

“Are they your friends?”

“Yep. Do you live with yours?”

Jaf’ar didn’t know how to respond, his expression left his pale face, words muffled by his arms, “Nope, I live with complete strangers.”

“Money issues?”

“Yep, hence the three jobs.”

“Holy shit, three?!”

“Yeah.”

“In that case, can’t you just live with your family?”

Ja’far stared at him for a moment with those slate, swollen eyes, and looked down at the table.

“... Is that a little touchy?”

“A little.”

“Ah,” he rubbed his shoulder, “Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s no big deal,” he shrugged, “I just want to get out of that shithole, quite honestly.”

Damn. That was some sass Sinbad did not expect from the small boy. He was all manners and politeness before, and now he was cussing about where he lived. Maybe this was a sign of their budding friendship.

Either that, or he was really fed up.

“Is that so...”

And with those words came a silence. Ja'far gazed upon the table, and Sinbad gazed upon his scruffy white hair.

With a sigh, Sinbad rose from his seat and broke the silence, “Anyway, my friends want me back home to do... Whatever. Probably sort out bills and stuff.”

“Oh,” Ja’far raised his head, “It sounded like that was the case. You better get going, then.”

“Yeah, but...” he trailed off slightly, looking for words as he put his hand on his chin, “I feel kind of bad, leaving you here...”

“Well,” the pale boy sat up, “ I was going to leave whenever you did, anyway.”

“That does make sense,” he removed his hand from his face, “Where do you live?”

“Not very far from here. Down the corner, actually.”

“I’ll walk you there, then,” Sinbad replied, beaming, “I live around there, anyway.”  
The sullen gray-green eyes brightened as a smile lurked onto his face, “Alright. Thanks.”

“No problem!”

With that, they stood, walked out, then down the street, to the corner, down a few houses, talking about nonsense the entire way with their teeth chattering through the brisk autumn winds. Eventually, Sin had dropped him off, and Ja'far thanked him with a nod.

The now familiar boy pivoted, moving for his destination.

“Oh, wait a second!” Sinbad exclaimed, reaching a hand out.

And so, he turned.

“Is something the matter, Sin?” the white-haired boy asked.

Those big, gray eyes stared him down, locking with his golden orbs. He took in his features; white hair, which was fairly clean, just messy - scattered freckles across his pale nose and cheeks, a bony body underneath all that clothing, and...

... This was strange. He only noticed these sorts of things on girls. Yet, there was something missing, something new, something he just realized about this boy--

“... Sin, what is it?”

The words resounded in his ears, leaving a ringing in them with a dazed look.

His voice.

And with that, he realized something, deep down inside him. Something that he thought would have never happened, and something he couldn’t get rid of that simply.

The unfamiliar voice that sounded so strange to him before was now the beautiful voice that made his ears ring. It left a pit in his stomach, and it made him sick in his chest. Was it bad? Or was it overwhelmingly delightful? Maybe he was anxious. About what? Well, whatever it was, if it really was anything, it felt... nice.

He was so glad that this boy was the new usual.

And more of those words interrupted his daze.

“Jesus, Sin, are you okay?”

“What?” Sinbad sputtered, “Oh, yeah, uh... I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“No, it’s fine.”

The two stood there for a while, frozen in place in the cold wind.

“... See you tomorrow?”

Ja’far smiled.

“Yeah,” he nodded, turning to open the door, “See you tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this before Sinbad's adventure showed up. I didn't know lil' Ja'far would've been a sassy assassin leader! good job, buddy.  
> Anyway, it's a bit strange because of that. I tried to tweak it a bit, but hey.

“Yo, Sin!” a greeting from inside the house echoed in the emptiness of it all, “Where have you been?”

“I made a new friend at the coffee shop,” Sinbad answered, hanging his coat up on the rack.

“Whoa!” one of his friends replied, “Got some digits, man?”

He sighed, “Sharrkan, it wasn’t that kind of friend.”

“Then, why did you take a whole damn hour after we called you?”

“I took an hour?”

“Mmmyep!” a small blonde girl responded, “Are you sure it wasn’t that kind of friend?”

“Positive,” Sinbad rejoined, heading towards the couch.

The apartment? It wasn’t too shabby. Large rooms, nice insulation, decent televisions, cable, internet, whatever. The beds weren’t as great, with a spring hanging out of one or another, but it could be dealt with, like most of the little things.

The people living there were an entirely different story.

Sin didn’t know exactly how these people were his friends sometimes, but, really, he loved them with all his heart. Aside from the times where they screamed about a bunch of nothing, and when those two acted like a married couple, and when some people just don’t give the right answers or were just flat-out annoying.

Normal people wouldn’t be able to put up with all of their shit, but Sinbad wasn’t exactly normal. Besides, their shit was his shit as well, and he held it dearly to is heart.

He could only hold so much shit dearly, though.

Upon landing on the couch, Pisti sat next to him, with a smug grin on her face. He wasn’t sure if he wanted the bombardment of questions just yet.

“So,” she smirked, “What’s her name?”

“My friend is a he,” Sin looked away from her overzealous gaze, “And he really is not what you’re thinking he is.”

“I didn’t know you went both ways, Sin!” Sharrkan butted in, face gleaming as well.

“I don’t,” he returned, “I just met him at the coffee shop, he works there, and I guess he goes to the same school as me.”

“So,” Pisti nudged him, “You do have his number.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have it.”

“Siiiiiiiiiiiin.....”  
“Yeah, I do,” he finally admitted, a nervous smile on his face, “But it’s for educational purposes. I think we have a class together.”

And suddenly, Yamuraiha was in the conversation as well. “Is he cute?” she asked, chin in her hands.

“Go find out yourself.”

“Jeez, Sin,” Sharrkan brushed his hair back with a single sweep of the hand, “You’re really uptight today! What’s up with that?”

Sin very well knew, but he didn’t quite feel like admitting to it. Therefore, he came up with a typical saying of the partial truth, “School.”

“Yeah,” Sharrkan replied, “School is pretty awful.”

“...You dropped out junior year in high school,” Yamuraiha retorted.

“Did I ask for your input?” his brow furrowed.

She smirked, “You were begging for it.”

“Well, when did you get to be so smart?!”

“Do you forget that I’m currently taking my second bachelor’s degree for chemistry?”

“You little...”

Glares ensued, a giggle erupted from Pisti, still attached to the poor guy, and he was about to say some word of peace when--

“Guys, guys, guys,” Spartos interjected, “Let’s not have a full-on war. Sin just got home, right?”

The glaring subsided, and so went some of Sin’s stress.

“So,” he continued, “Are we going out later or what?”

“Oh!” an exclamation came from the white-haired man, “I almost forgot about that. And, since Sin was so late, we got set back a little...”

“Doesn’t that mean we can go now,” a suggestion occurred from Yamuraiha, “Or start getting ready to go, at least?”

“Yeah,” Sinbad added, “That sounds like a plan. I’d suggest you all go do she says.”

“Right!” Pisti shouted, “This is gonna be great!”

“Yeah, it is...” he trailed off once more, “Hey, Sharrkan, where are we even going?”

“A bar,” the boy replied, grin still intact, “It’ll ease your stress from the week, and you’ll have fun! Hell, maybe a girl will bring you back home!”

“I highly doubt it,” Sin looked around, “But I guess it’s not impossible...”

“That’s good enough of an answer!” the white-haired man patted his back, although it was more of a punch than a friendly pat, “Now, go get ready!”

“Yeah,” he replied as he left the room, “I’ll be back!”

... Maybe.

 

* * *

 

After convincing a certain red-haired man to tag along, and one grueling car ride, the group finally arrived to this... seemingly classy bar.

“It doesn’t look too dangerous,” Sin remarked upon exiting the vehicle.

“That may be for the better,” Masrur responded, crossing his arms and inspecting the exterior of the building.

“Well, what’re you two waiting for!” Sharrkan interrupted, placing his arms over the both of them, “Let’s go in!”

“Yeah, let’s!” Sin said with a hearty laugh.

And with the stampede of overly-excited, child-like adults in front of them, Sin and Masrur stayed back.

“... Is this... even legal?”

“.... Oh, you can’t buy anything, but you’re allowed in. I think.”

“Is that so...”

An awkward silence.

“... Well, we need you here, anyway. You’re a huge part of our lovely, dysfunctional family.”

“I know that,” Masrur nudged the long-haired man lightly, “Let’s just go in.”

Sinbad nodded, began to walk, and suddenly stopped at the door.

“... What?”

“... You know,” he began, “I don’t really feel too good about going in here now. I’m not sure, but I feel like something bad is going to happen. Maybe something that’ll be the death of me..”

Masrur stared at him with the sternest of faces, “... Are you going to say something about fate and the stars now, Romeo?”

Sinbad made some sort of gagging noise, “Oh, shut up.”

“How did it go? Oh, yeah. ‘Strike, drum.’”

“Will you stop?”

Masrur let the slightest of smiles slip out, and opened the red door to destiny...

... And loud techno music. The stuff made the place vibrate obnoxiously. The flashing lights and screaming didn’t help at all with Sinbad’s new-found headache.

“... I can’t locate the others,” Masrur said suddenly, looking out into the crowd, “I’ll go find them. You go sit down.”

“Roger,” Sinbad replied, saluting. When Masrur slanted his eyes in response, Sinbad giggled, and was on his way.

However, as much as he looked, as distracted as he was by the lights and the booming music and the voices of other young people having the time of their lives, he couldn’t find a table.

They should’ve reserved one earlier.

Annoyed, and not really in the mood to party, Sinbad found a chair amongst the bar. The seats were uncomfortable, but sturdy, which was probably for the best. Tiled with sparkly, ebony granite, the bar was cool, and Sin decided to put his weary elbow on it. And then his other weary elbow. And then his weary head, which made a smacking noise as it was put there.

Ah, he could use a drink. He called for the bartender while his face was still on the tile, and one arrived.

He could almost hear the fake happiness in the young man’s voice, “What would you like today si...”

Wait. He knew that voice. It was highly recognizable, and left his stomach suddenly anxious, and...

“.... Ja’far?!”

Sinbad’s eyes met with terrified gray ones.

“You work here?”

No response. Just a furrowed brow and insistent, slate eyes.

“... Ja’far?”

“Why the hell are you here?” the freckled boy finally responded, teeth clenched, eyebrows ridden with worry.

“I told you I was going out with some friends...”

The white-haired boy groaned, “Why here, of all places?”

“Well, it wasn’t my idea,” he sighed, “It was...” his eyes searched the booming room, and then pointed at a familiar glitter-clad, platinum blond man, “That guy.”

Ja’far stared in disbelief, “That’s your friend?”

“... Yes.”

Glancing around for a second, Ja’far noticed the people staring, and cleared his throat.

“Anyway, what will you have to drink....” he trailed off, “Sin, aren’t you only a junior?”

“Aren’t you only a freshman?”  
“Doesn’t mean I can’t work here,” he smirked, “You’re still only a junior, and you’re asking for a drink.”

“.... Doesn’t mean I’m not twenty-one,” Sinbad pouted, eyes darting to the right.

“Identification, please.”

“Ugh, hold on,” Sinbad dug around his wallet, and finally fished out his driver’s license, “There.”

After a few seconds of inspecting the driver’s license, Ja’far smirked and handed the card back to its owner, “Sin, you’re not twenty-one yet.”

“... I’m not?”

“In a month, yes, but not now.”

“God fuckin’ damn it.”

“None of your friends can buy you one?”

“I’m the eldest, and the other ones have families and don’t live with us anymore.”

“Oof,” Ja’far’s smirk remained as he crossed his arms and leaned on the bar, “Tough luck.”

Sinbad grumbled and returned to looking to the side, avoiding Ja’far and staring at his glitzy, glammed-up friends.

Karma was a pimp, and Sinbad was it’s bitch.

“Want a soda?” Ja’far chimed in after a few moments of silence.

“No,” Sinbad grunted, “I just want to leave.”

“Well,” the slate-eyed boy got up, “My shift’s almost over. We can talk for a bit, if you want.”

He shrugged, “Yeah, okay.”

Alas, there was silence between them. The raging music rang in his ears, the tremors of the bass made their own obnoxious noise, but Sinbad simply felt like there was no sound. There was just silence.

“... Sin, are you okay?”

“What?” Sin sputtered as he broke from his daze.

“You seem a little, well,” Ja’far stood upright, “Down. Kind of grumpy.”

“Eh,” he replied, “I’m just... tired.”

“You tend to be very energetic when you’re tired, Sin.”

“No, like,” he put his hands to his face and breathed a deep sigh, “Emotionally.”

“Ah,” Ja’far nodded, “Not school?”

“Not school.”

“Money?”

“Not money.”

“Family?”

“Nothing’s really bothering me about that, though.”

Ja’far grinned, “Something’s up with your family, then?”

“... I just said nothing was bothering me about that,” Sin retorted.

“But I got a different reply, and that’s--”

A holler from the other end of the bar caught the boy’s attention.

“Oh, right,” he sighed, “I forgot I was working.”

“No, it’s fine,” Sinbad shook his head, “I needed to leave, anyway. I have a headache.”

Ja’far grimaced and his eyebrows knitted. Whyever Sinbad stared at this for a few seconds was beyond him, but he was, and he got nothing in response for it.

“Sin,” the boy spoke again, “My shift ends in... fifteen minutes. Give or take. Meet me outside at two thirty.”

Sinbad nodded slowly, and returned his head to the table.

A few moments later, something cold tapped his crown. Glancing up, he saw that the boy was gone, and already on the other side of the bar.

All that remained of Ja’far being in front of him was a  glass of coca-cola with way too much ice, donned with a little umbrella toothpick.

 

* * *

 

At exactly 2:29 ante meridiem, he met him outside.

“You’re early,” Sin said, rubbing his temple, but eyes focused on the shorter boy.

“You left your coca-cola.”

“It was only ice,” he muttered, “I couldn’t really drink it.”

“Yeah,” Ja’far nodded, “I just did that to piss you off.”

Sinbad smiled a weary, bittersweet smile, “You already know me so well.”

The white-haired boy wore a very baggy, pine green hoodie, possibly a hand-me-down, and the average skinny jeans. Sin thought they looked nice on those bony legs, but he would never experience such discomfort for himself due to his bulkiness. Ja’far always looked tired and upset about something, but as of now, despite his usual exhausted demeanor, he may as well have been golden. He wore a smile, and his gray eyes gleamed in the street lights and illuminated signs.

Sinbad couldn’t help but have that radiance rub off on him.

“So,” Ja’far took out his fairly old, beaten smartphone, “What’s your address?”

“I’ll type it for you,” Sin held out his hand, and received the phone a few seconds later, “Are you driving me home?”

Ja’far scowled at him, but in a way that a mother would if her child said something peculiar.

“I don’t own a car. Who does?”

“I do?”

“You don’t count.”

“Well, then,” he smirked as he handed back the phone, “We’re walking?”

“Yeah,” Ja’far stuck the phone in his sweatshirt pocket after briefly looking at it, “I don’t think you’re in the mood for public transportation, either.”

“Nope,” he shook his head, “But I live a little far away...”

“Walking means alleyways,” the short boy began to walk, “It isn’t that far from here.”

“... Oh,” he stood there for a moment, thinking about the boy’s answer, “Okay.”

“Come, little duckling.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I may as well.”

A few chuckles came out of the boy as he slivered through the corners of two buildings.

Where the hell did that pathway come from?

Sinbad made some form of growl, and rushed after the city snake in all his clumsy glory.

The moon was full, but the streets were shielded by lights and speeding cars. However, through the darkness of shortcuts, the moon was the only source of sight for the two. After scrambling around, and some hardcore parkour (jumping a fence), they arrived at the street with one functioning guardpost that flickered, but, quite literally, outshined the rest. The road had a name, but it’s plaque was on the side too far from sight.

From the opening to the street, they stood.

“... You have no idea where we’re going, do you?”

“Oh,” the freckled boy replied, “I do, but I like the scenic route better.”

So much for scenic.

“Which way do we go?” the taller adventurer glanced about, looking for any sign of life.

“Let’s go right this time,” Ja’far turned and continued to walk, “I don’t want to pass my house.”

Sinbad followed close to the boy, with a voice above a whisper, “You live on this street?”

“Yeah,” he nodded in response, “But I don’t want to talk about me.”

A raised eyebrow came from the purple-haired man.

“So,” Ja’far looked up at him, “How’s the family?”

Sinbad appeared to be spaced out for a moment, staring at the pavement with his eyes half-lidded and his hands in his pockets.

“Well,” he shrugged, “My dad died while he was in the military. Not that big of a deal, I was too little to really comprehend it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I said it’s no big deal.”

“No,” he shook his head, “That you didn’t know him as well as you should’ve.”

“Oh,” Sin shrugged, “I was, and still am, just fine without a dad. My mom’s a good lady.”

There seemed to be a lingering in his voice, as if the word ‘mom’ had suddenly made his throat dry.

“... And your mother is...?”

“Esla,” Sinbad nodded, “She’s sick and hospitalized, but mostly because nobody can take care of her.”

Ja’far hummed, asking him to go on.

“She would take care of herself; she’s that kind of person,” he smiled, “But she just can’t anymore.”

“I see,” the slate eyes became glued to the concrete, “Does anybody else know that?”

Sinbad thought for a moment. And another. His golden eyes faced left, and then right.

“... No, nobody knows that specifically. They just know she’s still in the picture,” he replied, hand on his chin, “Huh.”

“Happy you got that off your chest?”

He was blank for a moment, “... I do, yeah,” his hand lowered, “But I don’t think that’s what’s bothering me.”

“School?”

“Probably school. It’s always school.”

“Nope. Relationships?”

No reply, just some form of noise that was the result of opening his mouth to speak, and deciding not to.

“I got it,” Ja’far raised his head, not smiling, but the overbearing feeling of flickering ego filled the air.

“Damn it.”

“So,” he looked at him from the corner of his eye, “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“... Well...” Sinbad began to speak, but embarrassment piled on top of him.

“Is it that girl from Art History? Ahh, what was her name,” Ja’far scratched his head, “Julianne? You two seem to talk a lot.”

“She’s into me,” Sin sighed, “But I’m not into her.”

“I see...”

And so, it was silent. Ja’far awaited the answer like a cheetah hunting prey, quiet and cautious, yet ready to spring up at any second. Sinbad could tell he was waiting, and sorted out his thoughts. He needed to make his answer... reasonable.

Should you? He thought to himself. No, you should not. Now is too early. It’s been two weeks and you don’t even know his last name. Hints? No, nobody knows him better than himself. Well...

“It’s a guy.”

“Oh,” Ja’far’s predatory gaze fell into something of disbelief, “I’m sorry I assumed that.”

“Ahhhh, nonono,” Sinbad said hurriedly, a nervous smile on his face, “That’s the issue. I’m straighter than a pin needle. I don’t get it and it’s worrying me.”

“Are you a virgin, Sin?”

“Whoa,” his eyes widened, “That was sudden.”

“I’m asking as your bartender, not your friend,” he shrugged, “I’ve heard much more than I’ve needed.”

“... No, I’m not,” Sinbad replied hesitantly, “But I haven’t done it with a guy. Nor have I thought of it. Well, before now.”

“Sin, it doesn’t really matter who you do or don’t do,” he looked forward once more, “You can like girls, and you can like guys. You can like people that aren’t either. You can like more girls than guys. Whatever. In the end, nobody really minds, as long as there’s no STDs.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” he glanced over to him, “Do you like guys?”

“I’m not attracted to people very easily, but I guess?”

“Are you single?”

“More so than a lost sock.”

“Ah, man, really?” Sinbad turned to him, “You’re really cute, though.”

“That’s exactly why,” Ja’far replied with a grumble in his voice, “People like manlier men.”

“... Well, somebody’s gotta like you.”

And he certainly did, but he may as well not say it for a good thousand or so years. Maybe in the next fifteen lifetimes.

“Not that I’d care, really,” he pushed a strand of hair behind his ear, “I don’t want to be in a relationship.”

“Why?”

“I can’t even take care of myself,” he replied, “I can’t take care of another person.”

“Oh,” he scratched his neck, “Is that so...”

The silence struck again, the only other sound the tapping of shoes against the pavement. Their metronome-like beat lulled him to his thoughts. He wanted to know more about the boy. He realized that the only thing he knew about him was that his name was Ja’far, he was really adorable, had a great personality, and was really smart. He loves math, and likes learning in general. He hates salted caramel lattes, and really loud things and people.

He yearned to know more. So much more.

He raised his head with a singular word, “Ja’far?”

“Yeah?”

“... Do you have family issues?”

Ja’far’s face slowly fell, “No. I don’t.”

“I’m sorry if that’s intrusive,” Sinbad fiddled with his own fingers, “I just wanted to know why it was a touchy subject.”

He sighed, glanced at the ground, eyebrows knitted. A reply finally left his lips, as if it escaped with all it’s strength.

“... I don’t have a family, I guess? Nothing you would call a family.”

The words echoed in Sinbad’s ears.

“... Ja’far, even if you’re adopted, you still have a famil--”

“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head, “I just. Don’t have one.”

It was the only time the silence made his thoughts more clear.

“... I don’t really understand,” he got a little closer to the boy, “I’m... sorry if you don’t want to talk about it. We don’t have to.”

Ja’far inhaled, and sharply exhaled. His perfect posture turned into a sloppy slouch, and the hands meddling with his appearance slowly reached into his pockets.

“... This is going to sound really, really angsty,” he sighed, “Like it was from a teen fiction novel. Or worse, a vampire teen fiction novel.”

“Go for it,” Sinbad jabbed his arm, “I don’t mind.”

He stood upright, eyes suddenly losing their cloudiness and gaining clarity.

“I was taken away from my mother at an early age,” he began, “I didn’t know my father, I forgot if I had siblings, and I don’t even recall her face.”

Sinbad nodded, listening intently.

“I have no clue who took me,” Ja’far raised his shoulders, “They could’ve been who I remember as my caretakers. Anyway, I was... sold. And auctioned off of. And, eventually... I was bought.”

“Wait,” Sin interrupted, “Bought?”  
“Human trafficking,” Ja’far replied, “I was deemed worthy of being sold when I was five or six.”

“Who bought you?”

“A few people,” he looked over to the golden eyes, “They named me and treated me like I was some kind of prince. Not like my previous owner. They brought me to school, gave me food that wasn’t just leftovers, and even showed affection... But they would never have been able to be called my family.

“When I was ten, they decided to make me do some... dirty work. They taught me how to seriously mess somebody up. Maybe it was because my cute face wasn’t as cute anymore. Maybe they were just sick of me. I still can’t quite put my finger to it. I think the worst they’ve done is knock me out and cut open my leg. I woke up one morning with a massive stab wound, like dragged down my leg, stitched up all sloppily. I can’t remember why they did it.

“After they were done with me, I was sold again. Well, put up for sale. Some lady named Foxie, if that was her name, had the highest auction for me. I’m pretty sure she wanted me to be a prostitute, she even checked out my junk.”

“Jesus,” Sinbad stared in awe, “How old were you?”

Ja’far squinted, “I was fourteenish. Creepy, but not as bad as twelve, which was when I was put up for sale.”

“... What happened after that?”

“Police found out. They threw me in a car and sent me to the hospital.”

“Oh.”

“I was physically fine, just a little malnutritioned after not wanting to eat. Since they couldn’t trace my DNA to anybody in particular, they sorta gave up on me, and put me in a foster home until they could find a likely mother or father.

“I still went to school. Went through fifteen foster families in four years. Truthfully, though? Families don’t say ‘goodbye’ unless they’re going on a trip. I hated it. But, I was fine. I was, and am, my own person. I knew what to do in life with little supervision. I did the best I could in school, got a job, got into a good college,” he sighed with breath from the very pit of his lungs, “And here I am now.”

Sinbad didn’t respond for quite some time. He tried to wrap his head around the whole thing, but... it didn’t work.

It probably needed a night or two of processing.

“... Oh my god,” was all he could manage, “I’m... wow. God, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Ja’far replied, “I’m not who I was years ago. It’s no good to dwell on the past.”

Sinbad nodded, looking down wearily.

He couldn’t choke out another response.

“... Tired?”

“Extremely so.”

“Well,” he grinned, “Just your luck. Look up.”

And so, he did. What he had arisen to was his very own split house, left the same; a few lamps on, air conditioners buzzing, and the door with a hinge missing.

“... Oh,” Sinbad muttered, “Thanks.”

“You walked here.”

“No,” he shook his head, “For telling me.”

“... Ah,” Ja’far looked away, “No problem.”

“Hey,” he chuckled, “Does anybody else know that?”  
An immediate answer, “No. Nobody does.”

“Do you feel better now that it’s off your chest?”

Confusion was painted on the pale face. After a long staring contest with the back of his hand, he smiled.

“... Yeah, I do,” he looked up at the man in front of the door, “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

And this time, the silence delivered eye contact. It was the first time the two looked at each other without saying anything; no pavement to gaze upon, no faced huddled in arms, no awkward tension between them. There were no words. There was no sound. It just felt... right.

And then, it was gone.

“See you tomorrow, Sin.”

A burst of exhausted laughter.

“Yeah,” he opened the door, “See you tomorrow.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote another chapter? It's a bit shorter than the last one, but I wanted to update it within at least a week. (*cough* It's been more than a week *cough*)  
> Hopefully, I'll be able to get more done once finals are over. Hopefully.

A quiet Monday morning. The rain had stopped, and so did Sinbad’s thought process. As he sat at the dinner table, he stared blankly at his laptop screen. He stared for answers, inspiration, or maybe he simply hoped the essay would type itself. Far, far too much was going on in his mind to be genuinely focused on what he was doing.

“Agggh,” he clutched his forehead in utter despair. Not only did the intense headache get to him, but so did the overwhelming feeling of guilt in his gut, which slowly began to boil up to his chest. He got so caught up in work, and life in itself, that he completely forgot about visiting his newfound crush at the coffee shop. Hell, he didn’t even have the right mind to text him, nevermind call him.

With an exasperated sigh, he got up to search for the painkillers and his phone. God knew what happened to either of those.

Sinbad hadn’t seen the tiny genius since he dropped him off at his house, which was about a week. Although, as of recently, weeks tended to feel more like days. He picked up the Advil, guessed that about two would do, and swallowed. At this rate, his headaches were so constant that he didn’t even need water to help the meds go down. He should’ve probably gotten that checked out, but somehow a paper on religious texts was much more important at the moment. Certainly, he had his priorities straight.

His phone happened to be near the medicine cabinet. It sat sadly on the sink, scratched, cracked, and dented, with its home button slowly wearing away as a sure sign of old age. Yet somehow, he just couldn’t let go of that garbage phone with less than 20 contacts. Maybe it was the cat sticker that he couldn’t get rid of that he held dearly. Maybe it was just nostalgia getting to him. He held the phone in his palm, staring at it with his eyebrows knit.

... He felt this twinge of worry. Would Ja’far be mad? Would he even reply to his texts? Did he even bother about giving a crap about him anymore?

And from that one-sided staring contest, he came to the conclusion that it was a much better idea to see him in person than it was to text him. He was at work anyway, right? He would probably value it more, yeah?

With that in mind, he shoved the brick of a phone into his pocket, and he was off.

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” the rather cheery customer opened the door and approached the counter, and expected a familiar answer.

“Oh, hey Sin!” a different voice replied.

And while he knew it, and he knew it very well, it wasn’t the voice he was looking for. But...

“Alibaba?” he cocked an eyebrow, but then smiled, “I had no idea you worked here.”

... He didn’t mind that voice. When he graduated from high school, Alibaba was a freshman, who was almost as interested in history and literature as Sinbad was. However, foreign language was his forte. They knew each other via poetry club, and they enjoyed tearing apart terrible poetry, be it classic or a creation by that kid with the really dark demeanor that sat across from them. This was possibly still a common interest, although Sinbad wouldn’t know. He spoke to Alibaba only by a chance. But that judgemental bond still remained strong, and they acted as casually as possible whenever they had seen each other. This was no exception.

“Small world, huh?” the blond chuckled in response, “There was a spot open for just the weekends, so it was perfect for me.”

“Weird...” he stared off for a moment, “... Wait, what day is it?”

“Sunday.”

“Sunday?” he replied, bewildered.

“Sunday,” the other reaffirmed.

“Jeez,” he sighed, “When did that happen...”

“I know,” Alibaba groaned, “I have to work overtime, too. Another guy who works here couldn’t show up today...”

Sinbad perked up at the words. Now that he thought of it, the small street kid was nowhere to be found. He probably should have noticed from the fact that he didn’t greet him, but...

“Do you mean Ja’far?” the violet-haired man asked, eyebrow raised.

“Yep, that guy,” he nodded in response, “Do you know him?”

“Yeah, he goes to my school, and I just happened to meet him here,” he chuckled,   
I guess you could consider us something like friends.”

“So, you know about him moving, I presume?”

... Did he just say...?

Taken aback, he blurted the word a bit too quickly, “What?”

“Oh,” Alibaba put a hand to his mouth, although there was no secret to be kept, “Did he not tell you?”

“No,” he shook his head defeatedly, “No he didn’t...”

“Well,” the blond sighed, “I wouldn’t feel too bummed about it. He was sort of avoiding telling me. I think he didn’t want anybody to fuss over him, but he seemed stressed over it. Like, more than usual. That guy’s crazy.”

And that was the next blow to the ever-pained gut.

The younger boy sighed again, “Hell, he insisted I didn’t help him pack. He’s too friendly... If you can call it that.”

“Ugh,” Sinbad shook his head, “I had no idea...”

There was an awkward silence between them before Alibaba gestured to a nearby sign, “We brought salted caramel lattes back, if you want one.”

“Oh, uh, no thanks,” he laughed in response, “I realized I didn’t bring my wallet on the way here...”

Excuses, excuses. He hoped the high schooler would believe him.

And, gladly, he did. The blond’s face became puzzled, “You just wanted to see Ja’far?”

He nodded.

“... Why didn’t you just text him?”

No response.

“... Is something going on between you two?” he sneered, giggle coming from the very depths of his throat.

“No, nothing like that,” Sinbad immediately interjected, waving his hand, “I just... haven’t seen him in a few days. I figured it’d be the better option.”

“Mmmhm,” he nodded, smirk still on his face.  
He sighed, eyes narrowing, “You’re still an ass.”

“So are you.”

“Touche,” he paused for a moment, “I suppose I should go call him or something. Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” Alibaba shrugged, and then smiled, “Good to see you, though.”

“You too,” he grinned, “Prince Saluja.”

He groaned in response, “Can you not?”

Sinbad let out a chuckle, “Say hi to Aladdin and Morgiana for me”

“Sure, sure,” Alibaba sighed, “Come back later with your wallet.

He gave a half-hearted promise of “I’ll try,” and was on his way.

The warm-colored skyline was vibrant, even as some clouds covered the horizon. Pinks and oranges the color of candies, grays that reminded him of Ja’far’s eyes...

Wait, shit. He did it again. He could feel his chest twinge at the realization of the though.

With the image of the winter-to-spring sunset in his mind, he stared at his phone once more. He was concerned about why Ja’far didn’t tell him he was moving, more so than the nearly-accepted fear of falling in love with the guy. Was it because they had failed to communicate well over the past week? Or was it his own fault? Was Ja’far just annoyed of him already? No, that couldn’t have been it, so...

He jumped when the phone began to vibrate in his palm. The adrenaline only intensified when he recognized the name on the caller ID. Fumbling with sliding the arrow to the right, he somehow managed to bring the device up to his ear.

“Ja’far?” Sinbad asked, although an obvious answer was ahead of him.  
“Oh, you picked up,” a tired voice replied, “Somebody else answered the last time. He said something about your boyfriend, but I forget.”

He bubbled in anger at the thought. Sinbad needed a passcode for his phone, and Sharrkan was the entirety of the reason why. But, hey. He had tried to call earlier. Both relief and even more guilt hit him at the realization. They weren't the best feelings to have colliding together to form a shitstorm of emotions.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I made the poor choice of leaving it unattended,” he sighed, and then opened his eyes, “So, what’s up?”

A pause. The silence almost seemed deadly to him.

“I...” the small voice began, “I got kicked out.”

Another pause, although this one arose from shock.

“Wait...” he trailed off, “Really? What the hell,” he grew frustrated as the idea began to sink in, “Alibaba told me you were just moving. Why did--”

“I didn’t tell Alibaba the whole story. Do you really think I would’ve worried the kid?”

“True.”

“Anyway, the landlord accused me of tarnishing his children, or whatever,” he groaned, “He sort of assumed I was gay.”

“Well,” Sinbad began, “Are you?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, who the hell cares?” anger twinged his exhausted voice, coming out like a croak.

“Uh, sorry.”

A sigh erupted from him, “No, I’m sorry. I’m just... Stressed out.”

“No, no,” he interrupted, finding a bench to sit on, “It’s alright. I understand.”

“Okay,” the voice grew calm again, but maybe it was more somber than anything. He remained quiet for a few moments. Sinbad could hear a small, shaky sigh as he breathed.

“... Ja’far?”

“I, ugh,” the voice cracked, “Jesus, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be...” his eyebrows tensed in worry, “Is there something else to it?”

He admitted with a sigh, “I don’t have anywhere to go. I looked for places. I tried to ask some acquaintances if they had room, but I sort of get nervous about asking for help. Hell, I almost begged to stay in that shithole of a house.”

Sinbad nodded, a gesture he knew wouldn’t reach the other, but he somehow felt better doing.

“So, I know you live with a ton of people already, but this is sort of my last resort,” he paused for a moment before speaking again, “Can I stay with you? Even if it’s for a little bit, it’ll help.”

An immediate answer, one with a smile, “Of course. Why wouldn’t I let you?”

“Ohhh my god,” a teary sigh of relief emerged from the voice, “Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” he chuckled, “Now the question is getting there. I’m guessing you aren’t in that house.”

“Yeah, I already have all my stuff on me,” he began, “I’m at Main Street station. I could get to your place myself...”

The golden-eyed man sighed, “This might sound bossy, but I don’t want you to,” he smiled, “I’d like to walk you there, if you don’t mind.”

Yet another pause, although this one was followed by laughter.

“Who the hell are you, my mother?”  
He chuckled in response, a sense of relief filling his chest.

“I may as well be.”

 

* * *

 

A few train line switches and exchanged text messages later, Sinbad had arrived at the station. Remarkably, he only got lost once. The subway was a hassle for him. And although the main station was the easiest to get to in retrospect, it was still difficult.

... Come to think of it, maybe he shouldn’t have been so proud of himself previously.

Upon getting off the train and into the cool underground, he put his phone in his pocket. Sinbad wasn’t sure what he was about to be up against. How would Ja’far look? Well, he didn’t seem like the type to look like a wreck, much less act like one. Hell, he was shocked to hear him so upset over the phone.

But he’d cross that bridge when he got there. First, locate the stairs. Meaning shuffle around a bunch of people he didn’t know. Lovely.

He sighed, trudged through the force of the crowd, and after countless accounts of “sorry” and “excuse me,” he ended up at the stairs. He climbed up them to find a cold, wide area, donned with wooden benches amongst the sea of people. He scanned the large room for a familiar face, that familiar head of white hair...

... And there he was. Bags under his forlorn eyes, eyes that stared into his computer screen. He wore a baggy, black zip-up hoodie with the sleeves over his palms, accompanied by jeans and sturdy work boots. Sinbad would never know where he got those or why, but he had them, and their clunkiness made his delicate frame look even smaller.

He gazed upon him for a moment before approaching him, observing how he would space out and bite his lip, and eventually began to type here and there. Rinse and repeat.

With a slight smirk, he came towards him, and tapped his shoulder upon arrival. He jumped at the touch, whipping his head to face him with widened eyes.

“Oh,” Ja’far sighed upon seeing him, taking out an earbud, “It’s just you.”

“Yep,” he nodded with a grin, “Just me.”

When Sinbad was closer to him, he noticed how utterly exhausted he looked. Worse than usual, which was something he deemed impossible. Not only that, but his eyes seemed to be brimmed with redness, and his voice sounded much more fragile when compared to the overpowering sound of the station.

“... Did you hear me?”

“What?” Sinbad snapped out of it, realizing he was staring at the boy, “Oh, uh. No.”

“That’s fine,” the white-haired boy shook his head, “I was just wondering if it was really okay to stay at your place.”

“Of course it is,” he said sternly, “Put the laptop away. We’re going home.”

The gray eyes gazed up at him, “... Home?”

“Home,” he nodded.

After a moment, he nodded as well, “Alright. Home.”

He tucked his laptop into his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder and grabbing another bag to his side.

“... That’s it?” Sinbad asked, eyebrow raised.

“I have clothes, some shoes, and a laptop,” Ja’far shrugged, “I don’t need much else.”

“Huh,” the violet-haired man put a hand to his chin, and then grinned, “I’ll have to take you shopping, then.”

The smaller boy chuckled, a joking tone in his voice, “You gonna take me out on a date?”

“Sure!” he laughed in response, brushing away the hopes of actually taking him on a date, “Anyway, let me take your bag.”

The messenger bag came off the shoulder, and he gave it to him. Sinbad singled it over his shoulder with a smile. He looked back at Ja’far to see those slate eyes staring into his golden ones, almost like a puppy begging for food.  
He found himself staring back into them, and with it came silence.

“... What?” he finally interrupted, smile still on his face.

“Pfft,” he chuckled, rubbing his eye, “It’s nothing.”

He paused for a moment, observing his face once more. Oh, he--

“... Are you crying?”

“What? No,” he retorted, avoiding the other’s gaze, “Of course not.”

He laughed, holding his arms out to the boy, “C’mere.”

Another silence came as Ja’far considered what was in front of him, eyebrows knit with a puzzled look painted on his face. He looked down at his boots, and then up again. Eventually, he took up the offer, gently wrapping his arms around the taller man.

And Sinbad embraced him as tight as possible, leaning down for Ja’far’s sake.

“Ouch, jeez,” an exclamation came from the white-haired boy, “Thanks, asshat.”

“No problem, dickwad,” he grinned, patting his back.

He responded with a giggle, placing his forehead on his shoulder. Sinbad could see his smile through the laugh’s radiant, contagious happiness.

And somehow in the rampant, bustling life of the train station, there was peace and quiet in their embrace. Along with the smell of feminine hair wash and coffee.


End file.
